


fear factor

by discountghost



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Bad Decisions, Creature!Jimin, Existential Crisis, Haunted Houses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24065884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discountghost/pseuds/discountghost
Summary: Jimin was a collection of things. Ideas. Concepts. Speculations made in passing when people rounded his corner that he couldn’t rightly remember. He was learning, still, after all these years that when he sighed, a breeze danced in the house. When shuddered, lost in thought, the floorboards creaked and windows rattled as if they too were unsettled by something. He was learning that he was the house and the house was just as much him.
Relationships: Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23
Collections: UNWRITTEN





	fear factor

Jimin was a collection of things. Ideas. Concepts. Speculations made in passing when people rounded his corner that he couldn’t rightly remember. He was learning, still, after all these years that when he sighed, a breeze danced in the house. When shuddered, lost in thought, the floorboards creaked and windows rattled as if they too were unsettled by something. He was learning that he was the house and the house was just as much him. 

He found that the only things willing to make their home in him were animals, strays. Beaten or forgotten. Little mice that needed a place. Cats that sheltered themselves from the rain. Dogs would lay in the wild ravages of his lawn, close their eyes and wait to decay. Flowers would blossom, fresh like from death and he would sigh again. 

People were only likely to approach around a peculiar time of year. They’d stand outside, play around in the grass and pick at the flowers and mushrooms and wild things that made their home there. Inevitably, they’d pull themselves back to the cracked pavement that lead to rotting porch steps and wait at his door. As if he would walk out and give them candy as was supposedly traditional. He’d heard children chorus their displeasure of avoiding the house, unaware that he had no candy to give.

He was pulled from his reminiscing by the creak of his steps. He couldn't see; it was mostly all sensations except for sight. A knowing where the cats slinked through the boards to get in. The windows with glass that was cracked enough for a bird to slip through to get back to their nest. It was this same kind of knowing that alerted him to the person waiting on the front porch, glancing up before his hand rested on the knob. It was warm against the cool metal and Jimin shuddered. The bats in the attic were startled but for a moment.

His visitor glanced back at the friends waiting on the pavement just beyond the reaches of where he could feel. But he knew they were there. Their voices carried, encouragement and jeers echoing in empty space. The man turned back to his house and strode forward without further hesitance.

The scuff of his sneakers against the rotting floorboards tickled. Made Jimin's skin crawl as he observed the other. They were heavier than the careful steps of cats and dogs, picking their way across shattered glass bottles and trash blown in or left behind. His weight dipped into the very bones of Jimin's existence and he sighed. The door rattled as it closed, the man jumping as he turned to look at it. But he didn't leave yet. He kept going.

The wallpaper had long since peeled off on its own. Jimin didn't remember when that had been. There had been flowers, yellow and pink. Kind of garish, but he'd appreciated the color in hs otherwise black and white existence. The man had hair that reminded him of the wild lavender that sprouted in the backyard last year, trampled by balls thrown too far and kids just brave enough to hop the weak fence to snatch them back up. His hair was somewhat long, strands of it falling into his face as he walked on. He shone the flashlight from his phone around the first room, the living room. It had been empty for years, mostly.

When it had come to be that people had taken to using his confines for illicit activities, they'd dragged mattresses into several of the rooms. They pulled the decaying couch from the living room, dismembered it easily to spread the cushions around. The frame was discarded, forgotten. The weeds had consumed it in the back.

Now, though, the man would see nothing. The house groaned. Jimin felt himself squeeze up, as if trying to cover his bareness. The man didn't notice. He walked on. Little words are uttered and Jimin has to strain to hear what any of them are. Observations? Speculations? There's a light " _ Jesus" _ as the man stumbled forward, glancing down to see a broken chair leg.

He crossed into the next room, Jimin watching as he always did. There would be something that would scare him out and Jimin would be alone again. Mice scampered into their hiding holes, little warm bundles that tucked themselves into Jimin. He welcomed them with as open arms as he could. Light shone around this room, too.

Graffiti covered the walls, a few cushions in the corner of the room. The dog that slumbered there didn't lift its head. On its last legs. Or already dead. Jimin couldn't feel the butterfly light thrums of its heart anymore. The man looked on, ducked his head a moment before raising it again and turning the light away. It landed on the steps, termite riddled and mossy. Vines crept up the walls where the plants had infiltrated the house.

The man did not seem perturbed by this. He picked his way carefully up them, fingers gingerly holding on to the walls. He was perhaps the most careful, and yet not, visitor Jimin had received. He watched the man lumber up to the final step, and release a breath before glancing back. There was no applause for his success and he continued on. Jimin wanted to applaud him, though. The farthest anyone had ever gone. There was more light here, a window letting the streetlamp's glow in. The moon filtered in through grimy glass, as well, but weaker. The man pushed into one of the rooms, found the little library. Jimin supposed that at one point it had been meant for the children that had lived here. The books had rotted, mostly. A bit of the roof was missing, drops of water dripping down into the center of the room. The man walked around the little puddle left from last night's rain. His gaze drifted from one part of the room to the next until it landed on something that kept his interest long enough for him to falter. His footsteps carried over Jimin's skin, until it got just an inch away from the bruise on him. He lifted a finger; the door slammed against the wall. The man jerked his gaze away from the spot, stumbled back. Water dripped down on his head and he ducked, rushed over to the bookshelf. His fingers ghosted the spines of the books.

He left the room, glancing back inside. Jimin exhaled, the breath he'd held let loose as he followed the man to the next room. The man paused, as if he'd seen something. The next room was mostly untouched. As if time had been kind. The man could not get in, but he peered in through the peephole. Jimin felt it, the eyes on this secret place. Like someone peering in at his heart. The furniture remained as if it had been brought in just the day before. Pastel colors coated the room, along with a heavy blanket of dust. The man moved on. Jimin flicked the tiny dancer in the open music box, listened to faint tinkle of broken glass being walked over.

This room. Jimin never liked it. The bathroom. He had no need for it, but it left him feeling sick. Dirty rainwater, and the contents of the septic tank forced up bubbled with his nausea. In the toilet, if the man lifted the lid, would be a pool of dark hair. Shorn off by the last owner. The same who'd apparently locked up the girl's room. The man did lift the seat, reeling back and slamming into the wall. Jimin's heart stuttered; the doorknobs rattled. He'd wake her up. She'd crawl from the depths of the house. That's what Jimin had always believed, when he'd first been aware of the body in the basement. The fear of being alone was overshadowed by the fear of her.

Spindly fingers tapped on the rim of the bathtub. They were more like claws. Tap tap. The man looked to them, sucked in a breath and sped out of the room as if his life depended on it. Good. But he stopped, turned to the library. He walked back in, snatched a book off the shelf. Jimin's brows furrowed; the house groaned to replicate the action. Voices carried in from the outside as the man glanced outside. He stepped further into the room, grabbed something else that Jimin had not noticed and then took off for the steps. There was still one more room on the top floor, but the man did not bother to enter it. Another relief.

Jimin could no longer feel tsuch things. Not as the man's foot slammed through his steps on his way down. He yowled, and Jimin's heart jumped. The bats in the attic screeched as they flew up the little crack of the chimney, rushing out as if they felt it too. The man yanked his leg out, continued down the stairs. Jimin held the basement door. It rattled, commanded for him to move in that whispery voice that spoke words of honey to him. He only let it go as the man clambering out and onto the sidewalk, scraping his hands against the concrete.

The man looked back, breathing deep. Hair askew. He clutched the book in one hand, something small in the other. His fist closed over them, obscuring them from view. He turned to his friends, and stepped out of the boundary of the house. Jimin sighed; the house shuddered. But something peculiar happened as the man stepped further away to the street. Jimin followed.

The man's name was Namjoon. His friends called him it, and that was how Jimin knew. They walked down the street, Jimin trailing them. More like he was pulled along. He wasn't sure what prompted this sudden mobility, but then again, he couldn't explain his own existence. How it had just...happened. He sucked in a breath, felt the barest chill of the night air. One of the man's friends seemed to do the same, rubbing his arms. Broad shoulders were turned to Jimin, but the glimpse of his face that he had seen had given him the view of full lips. Namjoon shrugged off his thick cardigan, gave to the man. Murmured something about Seokjin, who he supposed was the other man. Seokjin nodded, took the offered cardigan gratefully and slipped it on with a word of thanks.

Jimin watched with narrowed eyes and the little group conversed. Yoongi, Hoseok. The others of the bunch. One had hair the color of fruit. Orange? It was faded slightly. Tangerine. A heart-shaped smile lingered on his face when he looked over his shoulder, drooping slightly. Jimin froze, wondered if he saw him. But then he'd be screaming, wouldn't he?

The group seemed close. They came back to fussing about Namjoon and his scraped hands. "Don't forget to disinfect it when we get back." Jimin wanted to smile, but having a face made it feel strange. Off. The house was not there to mirror him, let him know that he was truly doing it. His hands...he glanced at them. His fingers had curled, but they looked more like the paws of some great beast than the hands of a human. Fingers that were more talons that could slice through flesh. He swallowed, and that too felt strange to him. No fetid water slipping through rusted pipes. He followed after them, a collection of monstrous parts thrown together like a terrible collage.

They walked Namjoon and Hoseok home. Seokjin lingered, fussed at him some more before he took off to his own home. Hoseok took the steps two at a time, unlocked the door. Jimin slipped in after Namjoon and Hoseok both. Their home was nice. The wallpaper stuck. It smelled of life and living. No odd carcasses of animals. No cushions shoved up in corners for someone to feel comfortable while they got their fix.

Namjoon went upstairs, Jimin pulled along with him. He set the book down on his desk, cover up. The Little Prince. Jimin smiled as he slunk back, looking for the faintest bit of darkness to curl into. He felt himself meld with the darkness of the closet, the door opening just enough to let him slip in. He sighed, an ease creeping into him as he curled up and watched the occupant of this new house.

Namjoon still clutched something in his hands, the other thing he took from the house. He turned them over in his fingers, set them down on the dresser. A singular red earring. Ruby? He couldn't tell, but a familiarity crept into him. It lulled him to sleep, if what he did could be called that.

The days passed easily. Jimin grew more courageous. In the night, he would slip out of the closet, drift into the room. He'd turn the pages of the book gingerly, flick the red earring to watch it sway. Then he would turn to the man that might have freed him while he slept, easy and deep. Namjoon slept heavily. It reminded him of a corpse and it made the hollowness in his chest ache. He'd turn his attention away. He'd drift out, cracking the door open slightly. Hoseok slept lighter, tossed more. It seemed to match the lively persona he had come to get acquainted with. He'd slink around the dark spaces of the house, watching.

Because that was all that he could do, after all. But it was in this time that he had come to find that his presence had not gone unnoticed.

"I think I'm haunted." Namjoon's eyes narrowed, lips pursed as he concentrated on the textbook opened in front of him.

Hoseok looked up from the video game he'd been playing. Jimin might have laughed if he wasn't feeling the agitation creep into him like vines. "That's not funny."

"I'm not kidding."

"Namjoon, I'm serious."

"So am I." The taller (Namjoon was taller than a good number of his friends, he was finding) closed his textbook, ran his hands through his hair. A lavender mullet. A dare, just like him coming up the steps of the house. "I think. I mean, I'm sure of it. But when I left the house, I think something followed me."

Hoseok sat up, fast. Let the gaming console rest on his lap. Jimin watched on from the crevice of the couch. squished up tight but not uncomfortable. "When I agreed to split the rent with you here, I thought I made it clear that we should  _ not _ be dealing with any ghosts."

"I didn't mean to." Namjoon sighed, pushed back from the shaky plastic table. "You dared me to take something from the house, after all."

"Don't pin this on me!" Jimin flinched as the other leapt from the couch. "I'm moving out!"

"I don't think it's anything bad." Namjoon drifted to the kitchen, reached into a cupboard to grab a snack. "I think it's just lonely. I caught it watching me sleep."

If Jimin could blush, he might. But — how was Namjoon seeing him? No one saw him. They saw the house and the things the house did, but never really him. Perhaps the fingers had been the thing to do it, but he'd always thought it was more the sound than anything else.

"It's eyes were red."

Hoseok covered his ears, closed his eyes. "I'm not listening! I can't hear you! Not over the sound of me moving out because you got our house haunted!"

Namjoon crunched through something, turned to the empty couch. "You're being mean; it's listening."

Hoseok froze, and maybe they were both seeing him. He had slinked out of the couch, dropped a singular toe on the floor before he realized it. Eyes on him. He, too, froze. Hoseok's jaw dropped, Namjoon smiled.

"Hi."

Namjoon was fascinated with him. He confessed as much. His cheeks had hit a rosy hue, gaze dropped to the counter. Murmured how strange and wonderful he thought Jimin was. Unable to fully understand the odd flutter in his ribcage after years of being unable to feel it, he merely swallowed, nodded. He was still getting acquainted with this body. Not a house, but a body. The fact that he could be seen was something else altogether.

The man directed him to a mirror in the bathroom, once. Placed his hands on his shoulders as he steered Jimin up the stairs. Watched the way Jimin took them tentatively, crooked feet and backward ankles stuck in a pointe position. But regardless of this, Jimin was smaller than Namjoon. A fact that struck him as he looked through the current of his own long black hair at his reflection.

Most of his face was obscured by his hair. The glimmer of red, his eyes. Cracked lips spread out over the shattered glass of his teeth. He lifted a hand to touch them, was met with the sight of his own claws again. He jerked back, bumped into Namjoon. The other watched him with the same fascination he'd confessed to, none of the horror he felt himself. Again, there was a stirring in his chest that he swallowed down.

The other found it even more fascinating to learn about him. His eyes widened, words hurried as he opened up his laptop and beckoned Jimin to the bed. Like he was any other person. Jimin lurched forward awkwardly, slipped down to the floor instead. He didn't want the bed. He didn't want to dirty it.

Namjoon asked for his name.

He couldn't remember much of it. "Ji...min."

"Last name?"

He shook his head. The faint flash of a memory hit him. Blurry at the edges, crinkled like old paper. The image of himself running, laughter ringing in the air. A squeak, then more laughter as someone called his name.  _ Yah, Jimin! _ His lips twitched, maybe headed for a smile. He blinked, glanced up to Namjoon to see the other staring at him.

The other's brows furrowed, thumb toying with his lips in thought. "I'm sure we can work with that. Jimin."

He liked the way it rolled off the other's tongue. The way his deep voice carried it. He looked down. Namjoon's fingers clicked away on the keyboard, back hunched as he leaned toward the screen. Jimin's nose scrunched up, displeasure lacing through his system at the sight.

"Yo...ur back." His voice was hoarse, knocked his words together like branches smacking into one another on a windy day. "You...'ll 'urt 't." He flushed when Namjoon looked at him again, blinked.

Then he smiled. Dimples puckered into existence and Jimin thought he might have stopped breathing. He ducked his head once more, letting the brittle hair on his head fall forward to shield his face. The other chuckled, and when he glanced up (pulling back the curtain of hair to see), Namjoon had straightened up.

"Have you always had this form?" Namjoon closed his laptop.

"I...I. Don' know." His bones felt like rusted joints as he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"You haunted the house."

"Y..es."

"Were you alone?"

He thought back to the woman in the basement. The previous owner of the house. Memories melted together, but she remained static in the sea of his remembrance. He could picture her now, staring up at the ceiling to watch through it as people came and went in her home. "No."

"Someone else was there?"

"She..lived there. Herhome. Herplace. Hergirl." He slid his hands into the carpet of the floor, watched the way his claws parted the material with ease. He blinked. "Hers."

Namjoon fell quiet. Then — "What was her name?"

He shook his head. He didn't know her name. He didn't know much else beyond the way she whispered up to him quietly to let the door open a crack. To let a little kitten through for her to eat. And the way he complied, wanting only to placate her. Then the door would slam shut and the house would shudder as it filled with the yowls of the cat or the dog or the mouse he would nudge in with a floorboard raising in their path. He swallowed, let out a breath that made his glass teeth tinkle.

"Okay. We don't have to talk about her. Are you hungry?"

Jimin had never felt hunger before. Maybe not in this form. But before he could say as much, his stomach growled. His brows furrowed as he looked down at his abdomen, hidden mostly by hair and a shirt several sizes too big for him. Namjoon's, when they'd realized that he was pretty much naked upon their first meeting. It smelled like herbal teas. He inhaled; his stomach knotted up. How strange it was to not be a house.

"I'll take that as a yes."

He didn't know what he ate and neither did Namjoon so they settled on packaged ramen. He turned the plastic wrapping over in his hands, glanced up at the other as he began a story of how this was the only thing he was capable of making. And how he'd been banned from attempting to cook anything without supervision by Seokjin. His face lit up when he said the name. His words were delicate, like they were walking around something fragile as he talked about the other man.

He knew what that was. He saw, sometimes, the people that did make it in share honeyed words. They'd talk in whispers, but he could hear it in their tone. Love? Maybe want, if the way they progressed said something about it. He shut his eyes, opened them again as his name was spoken. Not to him.

He glanced up as Hoseok entered the kitchen. It had only been a few days since the discovery that the two men could see him. The tangerine-haired man had yet to warm up to him, but Jimin could understand. Especially as the man stifled a gag as he crossed quickly to the refrigerator. He pulled something out of it, tossed a container in the microwave before fleeing. He didn't come back until the timer ran down and the appliance beeped.

Hoseok eyed him suspiciously as he reached beside him to get a spoon from the drawer, hand slow like he was trying not to spook an animal. Or himself. He was gone from the kitchen soon again.

It was several days later, when Namjoon was gone to class, that Hoseok seemed to feel like he could say something to Jimin. He had a rosary around his neck, a crucifix in one hand and what might have been a bottle of tap water marked with holy water. His frame vibrated as the man approached, an unease buzzing. His insides rattled as he drew himself further into the closet. Where he stayed, mostly for fear of scaring the same man that approached him now.

"Look, I know you, like, are haunting us and everything, but I think we need to work on some ground rules."

Jimin nodded, minutely.

"You stay...away from me! First of all. And second, don't touch my games."

Jimin nodded again, not entirely certain where this was going. Hoseok probably didn't know, either. The man glanced to the door, sucked in a breath before his shoulders dropped and he sat cross-legged in front of the closet.

"Look. I. You're fucking scary, dude. Is there, like, a way we can fix that? I know Namjoon says you're not...mean. Or bad. But it's a little hard to think as much when you...look like that." He scratched the back of his neck. "You can, uh, forget everything I said before, by the way. Just, like, warn me before you, uh, appear? Do you disappear?"

"N...o."

"Oh, okay. So, what do you do?"

Jimin pursed his lips together. The coolness of the dark space in the closet didn't extend much beyond the door. The lights were off, but the window allowed enough light. "I. Likethedark."

"That's it?" Hoseok looked a mixture of surprised and skeptical. Like Jimin was lying to him.

The creature nodded, stared over at the man.

"That's not. That's not too bad." Hoseok seemed to consider something. It was another moment before he stuck his hand out for the other to take. Jimin blinked down at it. "Dude, quickly, before I chicken out."

Jimin grasped his hand, the other's skin jumping at the contact. His claws curved around flesh tentatively and Hoseok made their locked appendages shake before he slipped his hand out quickly and stumbled back.

"There. I'm Hoseok, but everyone calls me Hope. Now we're formally introduced and all that jazz."

Warmth blossomed in his chest.

"You wanna play cards?"

Card games were how he got closer to the other two occupants of the house. Namjoon would leave for class, return to he and Hoseok playing go fish or something along those lines. Hoseok would remain perched in front of the closet, catching on that Jimin found comfort there. His chest did a weird thing whenever Namjoon smiled at the sight, Hoseok rambling on about how many rounds he'd won. They fell into a comforting routine.

Until Namjoon disrupted it. Not a bad interruption. A good one, one that made his chest feel like there were butterflies trying to get out of it.

"Hey, why don't you sleep out here?"

Jimin paused, midstride. About to slink into the closet to rest his eyes. Namjoon closed his book —  _ his  _ book, The Little Prince — and set his glasses down on the desk. Patted the side of the bed. It was just the right size for sharing if Namjoon was smaller. The creature considered it, shook his head.

"Please? I don't think it's especially comfortable in there."

"It is. For me."

He stopped pushing that night, but he would each night. The same pattern. Until he gave in. He sighed, turned to face the other.

"Why?"

Namjoon blinked, though his expression brightened. Like the way it did when he talked about Seokjin. He shrugged. "Just 'cause."

Jimin waddled forward, stumbled at the foot of the bed. His hands left dark smudges on the covers. He continued, because this was what the other wanted and he wanted to see the dimples that were waiting on the sidelines of Namjoon's smiles. He looked down, not meeting the other's gaze as he lifted the covers for Jimin. He delayed as best he could; picked the lint from his feet, rubbed his hands together to make sure he wouldn't smudge anything on the sheets. But the inevitable would still happen. He scooted down on the bed, lay with his head back on the mattress as Namjoon leaned over to turn off the light.

They were quiet, letting the darkness sink in. A hum rattled through his chest as he got comfortable, eyes sliding shut.

"Are you cold?"

"N...o." He shuddered, betrayed again by this new body. He could feel the other's chuckle vibrate through the mattress, over the springs.

Namjoon pulled him in close, drew the covers over him more. "Better?"

He nodded, head only inches away from the other's shoulder. Namjoon rolled on his side to look at him. Red eyes met his before Jimin looked away, gaze darting to the window. Moonlight filtered in.

"Good night."

Another hum in response. They fell into another routine, just as easily as that.

It was in one instance of playing cards with Hoseok that there was any noticed change. With eating and drinking came bowel movements, and as Jimin climbed out to use the bathroom, Hoseok gasped. He looked at the other quizzically, brows furrowed before he lurched away to the bathroom. He caught his reflection as he flushed the toilet.

His lips were full. Not cracked and paper thin as they had once been. He pressed a knuckle up to it, watched the way the flesh moved with ease. His eyes were still red, but eyes softer. Pupils no longer slit. He sucked in a breath, stumbled back to the room.

"Mmm!"

Hoseok laughed at the sound, stood to his feet. He was taller than Jimin remembered. His hands went to Jimin's hair, eyes bouncing from his head to his feet and back up again. "Dude, you look so different, Jimin!" He mashed his cheeks together. "A real cutie."

Jimin smiled awkwardly, felt the press of teeth still too sharp to be normal against his lips. But he was smiling. He wondered if the rest of him had changed. Or why he had, but that second one was a much more distant thought. He was steered back to the bathroom, another examination of him done.

The frail frame he'd had before was gone, replaced with a healthy sort of plumpness that Hoseok seemed to enjoy pinching between his fingers. He cooed, swatted away by Jimin's hands. The inky blackness on his digits had faded some, his claws still there and noticeable. He glanced down, wiggled his toes. His feet were still slightly askew, but they were flat on the ground. His ankle wore bruises that didn't hurt anymore. He grinned at his reflection, pushed the skin of his face around in wonder.

The human lifted the veil of his hair, grinned as he did so. They both stopped as they observed Jimin's reflection.

"Maybe we should cut your hair."

Jimin nodded, hard enough that he swore his teeth rattled in his head. It was how they ended up with scissors in Hoseok's hands as he fought to guide them through the hedges of Jimin's hair.  Namjoon walked on them as they finished. The final snip of Jimin's hair as the length of the final strands to be clipped joined the rest on the floor. His eyes had squeezed shut, body thrumming with excitement. It was met with equal parts of excitement as Namjoon looked him over. Gazes locked, Jimin pressed his lips together.

Said emotion was quelled as Namjoon's expression danced between a number of reactions. The initial excitement died away quick, smothered by confusion. Then just a dash of horror before he tried to pull on the mask of delight. Jimin didn't know what to call the way his chest felt heavy watching the display. Maybe it had been too long since he'd last seen something like that.

"I think I might have figured something out." Namjoon leaned against the doorframe. "I'll tell you at dinner." He hesitated another moment, then — "You look good, Jimin."

Heat —  _ heat! _ — rose to his cheeks and he ducked his head. He was suddenly missing all the hair scattered around his toes on the floor being on his head. Hoseok ruffled the hair, cooed again as he mashed the creature's cheeks up. They spent several more minutes gaping at Jimin's reflection. A memory played in his mind, just under the surface of the present. A boxy smile spread wide as they did the exact thing that had happened. Clippers in hair as two faces shifted expressions in the bathroom mirror, passing giggles as they fought to have their faces more prominent in the mirror. He sighed, blissful. The memory faded, laughter echoing in his mind. It continued as he cleaned and carried himself down to the kitchen, hopped down the steps.

Namjoon sat at the table, ramen ready and lips spread in a pleasant grin. Maybe a little tight, but Jimin chose to ignore it. He settled into a chair as the other pushed a yellow newspaper page toward him. The headline was grim. He could only spot the  _ Marionette _ in it before his chest squeezed and he looked up at Namjoon.

"That...me?"

"Yeah. But — I got your full name. Park Jimin." He reached out, put a hand over Jimin's. "You were real. Are real."

There was something awed in his voice, enough that it made Jimin look back to the clipping with the same sort of wonder reflected in his gaze. Real. Alive. At one point, he had had a life. The memories he was collecting, putting back into place had a meaning. Not something he'd conjured up to fill the void he'd suspected he'd harbored. His chest tightened. He wrapped his hands around the cup ramen, hiccuped as he attempted not to cry.

Hoseok joined them as the tears started, walking past to set the broom back in the kitchen before chastising Namjoon for making the creature cry. He sobbed into his ramen, whimpers muffled as he shoved noodles into his mouth before they got too soggy.

He met Seokjin for the first not long after. Maybe not the first time; but it was the first time Seokjin was meeting him. He pressed his lips back against his teeth, hiding them. But he smiled, reached out a sweater-clad hand for a loose handshake. The other had laughed at that, called it cute. Said it didn't match his eyes, which the others had dismissed as him simply being a fan of monstercore, whatever that was.

Seokjin was the oldest of their bunch, and tended to bicker with most of the others in a good-natured way. Jimin watched this curiously, and the way he was different with Namjoon. Something that made his stomach flip. Gentle touches and softer laughter. He looked away, turned his attention to the quieter person he had been introduced to. Yoongi watched, most often, as Jimin did. He soaked in the atmosphere, a small smile on his lips. There was the occasional quip that Jimin would catch, laugh at. The other man would smile wide, his gums on display with pride.

Paws gripping the juice box between them as if his life depended on it, Jimin sucked up the last dredges of it. Watched the way the grape juice went up the straw, segmented by air gaps. He licked his lips, glanced up. Found Yoongi staring at him. Not quite gaping, but not really hiding his stare. He ducked his head, glanced to Hoseok for some sort of assurance. He blinked, realized someone had been talking to him.

"I...sorry? I zonedout."

Seokjin shook his head. "That's okay! Just wanted to know if you were comfortable."

"O...h. Iam." He nodded his head. The other smiled, Namjoon ruffled his head.

The two fell back in conversation as Hoseok proclaimed that they should play a round of games. He got the controls set up before Jimin realized that he would need to expose his hands to play. He stared down at the sweater material, over the tips of his claws. He swallowed, glanced to Namjoon.

"I...feel. Tired. Iamtired." He blinked, slow. Made sure to exaggerate it for added effect. The others nodded, no longer paying attention as he slipped away. Pushed himself up the steps on ankles that rolled the right way. He swallowed again, the living room disappearing as he ascended the steps.

He sat in the closet, curled into a ball. The hours ticked on as he waited for the others to come up. Soon enough he heard their footsteps as they came up the stairs. Hoseok popped his head in first, whispered a cheery good night. Namjoon strolled in after him, glanced toward the closet as Jimin crept out and to the bed.

"Feelin' better?"

"Mmm." He nodded, turned on his side to see the other.

Namjoon's fingers slid over the book. His book. "Do you want me to read it to you?"

Another nod, the rustle of the sheets. He didn't leave inky smudges on anything anymore. Namjoon picked up the book flipped it open. His words were warm as honey as he slipped into bed beside Jimin. They didn't matter so much as the man's voice, that Jimin latched onto.

"D...o you like Seokjin?" He surprised himself with the question.

Namjoon paused, looked down at Jimin. "I. Yeah, I do."

"Oh." He burrowed into the covers, pressed his head to the Namjoon's side to hear the way his heart beat. "Do you. Do you love him?"

"I." More hesitance. When he peeked out of the covers, Namjoon seemed to be having a crisis. His brows furrowed and his eyes were on the book, but he wasn't really reading it. "I'm kind of tired." A strained smile. He didn't look at Jimin, who blinked up at him imploringly. "Why don't we finish this tomorrow."

He curled around the creature, hand hovering over his cheek to brush back hair. His smile had less of a strain, but it was still there. Glaring at Jimin for having asked such a thing.

"Night, Jimin."

The creature nodded, shut his eyes and waited for sleep to hit him.

Namjoon turned his attention to figuring out more about Jimin, and spending less time with the creature he'd brought home. They couldn't call him a ghost anymore. Namjoon had made that clear as they debated what he could be considered. He was flesh and blood. He had physical needs. Hoseok snorted at that, but Jimin had flushed and stamped his foot down. He was changing more each day, little bits of him becoming more human as time passed. His hands remained the same, his teeth still sharp. That would never change, he didn't think.

"You're what we think of you as." Namjoon tapped his finger against the paper he'd been using to take notes. "Like...you reflect how we feel about you? I don't know."

"I don't. Understand." He swallowed the other words that followed. The question that wondered if that was a good thing.

"Like — Hope thought you were scary. So, you were."

"But. You."

"I don't know about that." Namjoon looked down, scratched the nape of his neck. "Maybe Hoseok's fear was stronger?"

"I didn't even know he existed for like half the time he was here." Hoseok pat Jimin on the head. "And he's been an absolute darling since."

"Exactly. That's why he looks so cute."

Jimin flushed. "Y..ou thinkI'mc...ute?"

"Uh. I. Yeah." Namjoon blinked, glanced at Hoseok. Jimin buried his face in the soft material of the sweater. He had his own clothes now, but his insistence remained on sweaters with sleeves too long for his arms. They didn't bother discussing warmer weather. Not yet.

"Smooth."

Namjoon coughed. "Anyways. What you were before I brought you home seems to have been tied to what people thought of the house."

"That. True."

"People were scared of the house, and you by extension. That might have been why you were particularly frightening."

"I knew it! I knew you were scared!" Hoseok danced in his seat, Jimin giggling.

"That's not important right now." Namjoon tried weakly after that redirect them to what they'd spoken of before, but they'd already been derailed. Hoseok jumped from Namjoon's indirect admission of fear and the very direct admission of his opinion of a blushing Jimin.

He tried again. "Do you. Love Seokjin?"

He was cuddled to Namjoon, the other on the edges of sleep even as Jimin fought with the question in his head. He'd debated asking, but now was the time when Namjoon wouldn't be able to fully deny it.

The other's chest rose, steady. "I don't know."

"Mmm."

"I think." Namjoon's eyes opened slightly. "I think I am. But I'm not. I think." He drew in a breath. Turned his head so his face was burrowed into the pillow. He didn't speak for a moment, Jimin watching him.

He reached out a clawed hand to brush the other's long hair back. To draw careful circles and trace the lines of his face. The sort of intimacy they had made his stomach flip. His mouth ached, teeth itching. He ignored it. "It's. Okaytonotbe. Su...re."

"No." The response was muffled. "No. It's not that. It's not that I'm not sure. It's that I'm not sure if I'm in love with  _ him. _ Or the concept of him." Namjoon's eyes opened fully, catching the glimmer of the moon in them.

His breath caught in his throat as Namjoon sat up, pulled back slightly. He watched the other swallow, breath quickening with panic. His hair fell in his face, covered his eyes momentarily, but Jimin had already seen the emotion in them. The kind of fear that mirrored those of all the visitors he'd had in the past. It was a few moments of Namjoon staring into space before he settled back down.

"Let's go to sleep, Jimin."

He changed again. He could feel it in his bones. He smacked into him when he awoke in the morning. He tried to think of what it might be. He could feel his legs. He could see. His fingers still worked, still clawed. Namjoon had gone, woken up before him. He stumbled out of bed, searching for him. But the urge to relieve himself was strong than the despair beginning to tug at him.

It was gone when he looked in the mirror.

It was a passing glance. But how could it be; he didn't have eyes. Nor a full face, for that matter. A cloud of nothing. Black sludge coiled into an angry ball existed in place of his head. Oozing the inky darkness over his neck and seeping into his clothes. He tried weeping, but the darkness swallowed the sound. Instead, he bled black, tears of it dripping down to his hands. Footsteps clambered up the stairs, freezing him in place. They approached the bathroom. His hands flew to the door, locking it. He held it in place for a moment, but the person on the other side went beyond him. Ignored the bathroom in favor of their true destination.

He looked to the small window above the shower. He could fit through it; he knew as much. A feat to get himself up, but he did it quietly enough and shoved at the window until it opened. Tumbled out and landed with a crack. The cry he let out was swallowed, and the one that followed when he looked down at his feet was as well. His ankles and feet were crooked again, turning in directions that shouldn't have been natural.

Jimin's head knocked back against the ground, the blackness slinking into the grass beneath him. He groaned, pushed himself up. It had been near a month or so since he had last seen the house, but the pull to it was strong. To feel the comfort of being spread out over a structure. To know that he wouldn't have to deal with whatever it was that was happening.

Namjoon had said that he was a collection of thoughts and ideas. Concepts. He supposed that was something he'd known all along. Some intrinsic to his very being, forgotten because someone had noticed him. Told him he was strange and fascinating, rather than a horrifying amalgamation of fears. Choked sobs were lost in blackness as he hobbled his way back to the house.

"Jimin?" Namjoon was back for the third time this week. His tone carried worry and concern. Hurt. "Jimin, please?"

He couldn't talk. That was the beauty of being spread thin in existence. He could spread his fingers out, listen to the trees scratch on his windows in silence. He watched Namjoon wander the house, climb up and down the stairs to try and find him. But he already had. Jimin was the house and the house was Jimin. He would get used to it again. He would learn to be a collection of things that people feared, a place for the refused and forgetting.

"Jimin. I'm so. I'm so sorry." Namjoon slumped down onto the bottom step. He sniffed, folded his hands in front of himself. "I. I was scared."

Scared of what? Of Jimin? The floorboards rattled.

"When you asked me that question — if I loved Jin. I — I was scared. Because I realized. That I wasn't." He lifted his head minutely, cocked it to the side and he splayed his hands out in front of him. "I was scared because I was in love with the idea of him. Jin's funny. He's — he's so kind. He's not me. And you."

The house groaned as Jimin held his breath. He almost forgot about the body in the basement, listening and watching.

"I thought. For a moment, a split second. That I was in love with the concept of you, too."

He could hear her laughter, faint. Namjoon couldn't. But he ignored it, tried to think of the words being said to him.

"I was. I was falling in love with you, Jimin." His voice lowered, just barely a whisper. Like he didn't want to hear himself say it. The laughter picked up, just a little. Namjoon went on, didn't notice. "I was scared it was the same thing and I didn't want to do that to you. I didn't want to think that I was projecting what I wanted with Jin to be you."

Jimin exhaled. The shutters slammed.

"I thought. I thought I was trying to find a replacement and that wasn't. I couldn't do that to you."

Jimin wondered how long it'd taken him to come to this conclusion. Had it been the same night? Had it been in the weeks that they'd looked for him, before realizing where he'd been all along? Time had passed in a way that it did where he forgot the hour, sometimes the day. But he knew time was passing. He would blink and the next day had come, or he'd blink it only a moment had passed. The laughter carried up to him in the rafters, but Namjoon still didn't hear. Rats scuttled through the walls, fleeing for the outside.

He could let Namjoon stay. He could let her have him and then the other would know. But that was pointless. What would he know?

"Jimin. I'm not sure. I don't think I ever will be." Namjoon lifted his head some more. Tears streaked his face. The door to the pastel room rattled. And that other, empty place rattled. "I'm not sure what the future holds, and I don't think anyone does. But. I love you."

Everything stopped. The rattling. The laughter. The echo of fleeing creatures was lost as he pulled himself from the darkness. His bones crafted themselves from the rotting wood, flesh wrapping around them as his feet picked their way through glass to get to Namjoon.

"Y..ou. Whatme?"

Namjoon smiled, more tears dotting the corner of his eyes. "I love you."

"A...gain."

"I love you, Jimin."

He let out a shuddery breath. The house remained still. The body in the basement fell quiet. "Really?"

"Yeah." Namjoon spread out his arms, silently beckoning the other closer. "Really."

Jimin went to him willingly, crushed himself into the other as if he wanted them to melt into one another. Arms wrapped around Namjoon with as much force as he could muster. The other chuckled wetly, murmured something about crushing him.

"L...et's. Gohome." He smiled as he drew back, claws brushing back hair from Namjoon's face.

Namjoon regarded him for a moment. Seemed to drink in his face. He nodded, stood and brought Jimin with him. The walls groaned as they walked, Jimin's gaze hard on the door.

He walked out hand in hand with Namjoon, forgot about the body in the basement as she screamed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed reading!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/discountghosts) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/remeremerem)


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